


Come as you are, as I want you to be.

by Luiselena



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Discrimination, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Ivar is complicated, Physical Therapy, Self-Esteem Issues, Tags will be added, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luiselena/pseuds/Luiselena
Summary: Ivar Ragnarsson was not an easy person, not by a long shot.He was arrogant, petulant, spoiled, and a condescending jerk.And I was madly, deeply, truly in love with him.It just happened, one day I woke up and realized that in spite of all of his faults and defects, I loved him. Happiness hit me like a train on its tracks, coming fast and hot. But so did the anguish, and the consequences of it all.He could never know, I could never have him.





	Come as you are, as I want you to be.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on this fandom, but I'm an avid reader and love the series, please enjoy and feel free to comment if you find any mistakes. English is not my first language, sorry in advance for any grammatical mistakes.

Ivar Ragnarsson was not an easy person, not by a long shot.

 

He was arrogant, petulant, spoiled, and a condescending jerk.

 

And I was deeply, truly in love with him.

 

It just happened, one day I woke up and realized that in spite of all of his faults and defects, I loved him. Happiness hit me like a train on its tracks, coming fast and hot. But so did the anguish, and the consequences of it all.

 

He could never know, I could never have him.

 

* * *

 

Ivar didn’t notice me much in the beginning, only when he had to, he scolded me most of the time. Didn’t even look me in the eyes.

 

I was his assigned therapist, and he was an especial case in the clinic where I worked. The son of Duke Ragnar of the Danes. It was crazy, the way I landed the job.

 

I moved to Denmark just a few months after my graduation as a Physiotherapist, the clinic accepted my resume and petition of work. I was applying for political asylum in the country and needed anything I could get. A couple of months after I started, he arrived.

 

One among thousands. Osteogenesis Imperfecta. And the son of a monarch.

 

He’d been treated since birth. He could walk with the help of his crutches, medication and constant therapy, living a barely normal life. But according to his records, He went rogue for a time on an act of rebellion. He was on an accident skiing, almost broke all of his bones and went in a coma for a month. His older brother, Sigurd, died in the accident. It was all over the news.

 

The first time I saw him, Ivar was in a wheelchair, rolled in by his other brothers, Ubbe and Hvitserk. His face was pale, dark circles on his eyes and his hair was a long mess. The expression on his face was dead.

 

There was a dispute, about who was going to do the “dirty” work so to speak. All the hand on hand contact. It seemed weird, but no one wanted the responsibility. The recovery plan was established by the heads of the board. But still, nobody came forward to volunteer. So the Chief decided. I was to do the job. C r a z y.

 

It thrilled me and scared me at the same time. I knew I was ready for it. Six years of Uni, one of internship and private patients with successful results, were proof that I knew what I was doing and I could count with the help of my superiors. But it was his eyes, his attitude, the way he spoke. It was all so… Intimidating.

 

The first session was like trying to pet a caged wolf. He bit deep.

 

Refusing to let me touch him, not even to help him seat in the stretcher. Making rude comments about my age, my experience, saying that I was too weak to even help him stand. He even mocked my poor accent.

 

I was not going to stand there and let him hit me verbally with his xenophobic remarks. So I planted my feet, and with my hands on my waist. I told him to fuck off.

 

I think it was the first time someone insulted him like that.

 

He blinked in shock and stayed quiet for the rest of the hour.

 

After that, we fell into a routine that lasted for months. He came in four times a week for one hour per day. He didn’t talk to me unless it was to express how much I was hurting him or not, but he was so proud. The progress of his recovery was slow but still present.

 

And during all that time, I started to notice his pain. Not just physical, but the one in his eyes, in his soul. So I figured, that being the son of a royal, and people seeing you as a cripple, could not be easy. It was still no excuse for his behavior. Then I added the fact that maybe the guilt of his brother’s death was what tormented him the most. But I was not sure of any of my assumptions.

 

One day his session got… rough. He did not scream, or shouted, not a sound came from him. But there were tears, he cried in silence while he held one of the poles of the treadmill. I didn’t know how bad it got since I was standing behind him until he almost fell. One of the interns nearby helped me carry him to a mattress. He collapsed and passed out.

 

I send the intern to call for help, to get one of the doctors. It was so early that the building was practically empty. At Ivars request, we worked in the early hours of the morning, he hated people looking at him during therapy. He looked so pale and lifeless now, lying there, and I lost it.

 

I was so worried, so distressed, I ignored all protocol and shock him, grabbing him by the shoulders and almost yelling in his face. Seconds later he came back, eyes half closed and sweat covering his forehead. He murmured my name and with an odd strength grabbed my hands and squeezed.

 

Relief filled me and a shiver rocked my body. I’d become so attached to him, he had all my time attention. It was inevitable. So I murmured his name back and carefully rested my forehead against his.

 

“You have to talk to me,” I said, “ I know you don’t like to show your pain, but it’s too dangerous if we keep going this way.” It was so inappropriate, the position I was in, but I didn’t care. He had to understand.

 

I was prepared for his hurtful words but what I got instead was a simple “Okay”.

 

* * *

 

Things got intense after that episode. His mother came for a visit, I didn’t speak directly to her, but she did harass the chief. Ivar was in bed rest for a few days, and I was sure that his mother would make the clinic dismiss me from the case. Or worst, fire me. She is a Duchess after all.

 

A couple of short cases were sent my way, mostly sprains, and dislocations. So the day that Ivar was back, he found me dealing with a classic case of patellar dislocation in a footballer. The guy was nice, soft-spoken and amicable, he was half healed of another injury so it was not that complicated. I was on the floor, semi on top of the patient, doing some flexion and extension exercises on his knee. For an outsider, it was a compromising position. Ivar did not like that.

 

“What the fuck are you doing? who is he? Get up, right fucking now!” He was livid. his eyes wide with a crazy and menacing stare.

 

Acting calmer than I actually was, I got up and walked to him “It's just a quick session, Ivar. I’ll finish and I’ll go to you in a moment, yes?” My Danish was still curt and timid.

 

“No. You will come with me now.” He said, doing his signature move of rolling his shoulders, trying to release tension and look bigger at the same time. Not that he had to, Ivar was taller than most of the men I had met in my time in Denmark.

 

He was so impertinent and stubborn.

 

“You have to wait, I can’t just leave him there!” I exclaimed, he was so irrational.

 

“I do not care. You have 5 minutes while I change my clothes. Either you finish or find someone else to do it. “ He turned around and walked away with the help of his crutches.

 

Frustrated, I apologized to the poor guy lying on the floor, he had an astonished look on his face, probably because one did not meet royalty every day. One of my colleagues saw what happened and took over.

 

Two minutes later Ivar was back, wearing only a pair of shorts and socks. The muscles on his arms, shoulders, and back were defined, while his stomach and chest were hard and lean. His hair was even longer now, soft chestnut locks falling in his face. His eyes were blue steel, and a five o'clock shadow covered his jaw. His legs were no longer “Boneless” as he described them, the muscle mass was slowly growing in them. We were close.

 

“Come here.” He simply said once he reached me. And I went without protest. “I will not tolerate you straying your… attention to other people. Understand?” He was so close, and he smelled so good, like woods and wilderness. Something I’d been choosing to ignore.

 

“Yes, Ivar.”

 

* * *

  


I thought things would’ve changed, but not so much. Now the gates were open, and it was like we were getting to know each other through a bright new light.

 

We talked about everything and anything. It felt like I passed some kind of test, to prove that I was trustworthy, or something like that.

 

I learned that he was too overprotected by his mother, that he hated being underestimated. He shared about his brothers: Bjorn, Ubbe, and Hvitserk. He didn’t mention Sigurd. They loved each other and helped Ivar since he was a child, doing what they could to not make him feel like less than them, but still, there were fights from time to time. He mentioned his father a few times, but only to explain his absence. He talked about a man named Floki, his bodyguard. He sounded like a fatherly figure. He spoke and I listened.

 

And then he started to ask about me. He wanted to know where I was from, pointing out that I was obviously not a Dane. He asked about my family, my carrier and my hobbies, how I got there, what I liked and what I didn’t. I responded to everything and added a few more facts about me. When I told him I had escaped from my dying country, and that I was a political refugee he almost fell off the stretcher.

 

“W-what?” He stuttered while he stabilized.

 

“My family was involved with the military, in my country. Not anymore but with the recent events, we had to leave. The sins of the father haunt the son, or so they say.”

 

“But… If you had stayed there, what would’ve happened?” he asked with a startled face.

 

“I would’ve probably been dead by now.”

 

“I can’t even imagine what would be like to leave everything you know behind..” He said.

 

“Is difficult, but life goes on.”

 

For a time, things were like that, peaceful and harmonious. We were friends, Ivar and I. Or so I liked to think. But then everything we had achieved shifted on its axis.

 

* * *

 

I had a dream one day, a wet dream about Ivar.

 

He was on top of me, whispering sweet things while he fucked me into the mattress, the one that we always used at the clinic. His arms caging me and his muscles rippling with the strength of his thrust. Even later, when I was already awake, I could still feel it inside of me. He was so beautiful, like a God on top of me, his hips fit perfectly between my thighs. I could smell the sex in the air, heard his hard breathing, and feel his pelvis rubbing against my clit.

 

_“Say it” He demanded. “Say it. Now”_

 

_“Ivar, I don’t-” I whispered, he kept moving._

 

_“You do. Now, give it to me.” Each word was marked by the deep, hard thrusts of his cock._

 

_“I … l-love you, Ivar” He increased the speed as soon as the word left my mouth. I gasped and locked my arms around his neck, my back arching off the mattress._

 

_“Yeah, you fucking do.”_

 

Nirvana washed over me, and then I woke up.

 

That day I knew that I was in love with him.

 

Never in my entire life have I had a dream or a thought like that about anyone. Not even with past crushes on my teenage years. It was a clear clue of what I felt and the intensity of it.

 

I would not make my feelings known, nor would I start acting differently, he would notice if I did. Ivar was too cunning for his own good.

 

One afternoon after we finished the exercise -he was starting to leave the crutches- we were waiting for his chauffeur to come for him when he asked something out of nowhere.

 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” so suddenly and abrupt that I almost choked on the water I was drinking.

 

My mind went blank and then all the sexual thoughts about him that I’ve had that day assaulted me. I blushed up to my ears and looked at the floor wishing it swallowed me.

 

“...No…” I barely mumbled.

 

“Interesting…” He scratched his jaw and then... “I want to take you out. Tomorrow, I know it's your day off. 1 O’clock is ok?”

 

I gasped, shock struck me and I couldn't form a coherent thought. “I-I don’t…”

 

“Perfect, I’ll pick you up at that hour.” the car arrived then. Ivar walked away and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. That man was graceful like a predator despite his condition.

 

The next day he took me on a tour, showing me his favorite places in Copenhagen. It was such a magical day, he was so different outside of the clinic, so much vibrant and even cheerful. He went “undercover” wearing a hat and sunglasses, but in the end, a few people recognized him.

 

He was so good with people, so likable and kind. And they loved him. Taking pictures and talking to him seemed easy. So it made me wonder how could he be two different people, one charming and the other obnoxious.

 

After a long day of sneaking around walking, we went to a little ice cream shop, “Helga’s Corner” It was flowery and homy, I love it. And there were only a few people, so we had more privacy. Until a small, blonde woman walked through the back door, she was wearing a long stamped dress and a lot of accessories.

 

She saw us and dropped a bunch of napkins she was holding and screeched “Min dreng!”

 

Ivar was holding me close to him, an arm around my waist while the other leaned on the crutch. Something he’d been doing all day, and I was trying to not overthink it. We were used to touching by now, but this was so much more intimate.

 

He was imposing still, with a white shirt, dark blue jeans, brown leather jacket, and combat boots- with especial templates inside them, that helped to distribute his weight and relieved the pain- He stood with straight shoulders and a naughty smile. I was wearing a long pastel-peach shirt and dark-olive leggings, with a long dark brown wool coat and black ankle boots, with a few long necklaces and rings, both golden. It was one of my favorite outfits but I felt underdressed next to him.

 

“Helga, this is the girl. She’s helping me heal,” he announced. The meaning of his words seemed deeper.

 

“Hmm… Hi?” I extended my hand, blushing.

 

“What a beauty!” She exclaimed and rushed towards me.

 

Then we descended into a night full of flavor and fun conversation. Helga was Flokis wife, and Ivars old nanny along with a woman named Siggy, so she knew a lot of stories. We were having a happy moment, but I could see that Ivar was distant, he smiled but he didn’t laugh. Helga didn't mention Sigurd either.

 

When it was time to close the shop Ivar walked outside to call for the car, and so Helga and I waited inside, getting away from the cold.

 

“You are good to him, he needs that. Sweet tormented child.” she murmured the last.

 

“I… we’re not, hmm, like that. I’m his friend.” It sounded more like I was convincing myself than her.

 

“Oh girl, do not fool yourself. He’s never done this, bring a girl to his family.” I tried to say something -To deny my feelings- when Ivar walked back in and told us that the car had arrived.

 

We said our goodbyes and went on our way, the ride to my house was silent and cold. Ivar retreated to his indifferent attitude, he didn’t even look at me, and it was such a shock after the day we had, I couldn’t help but feel hurt.

 

* * *

 

When we reached my apartment block -it was not a fancy place, but what I could afford- I got out of the car before Ivar, he liked to open the door for me, and I didn’t wait for him. So confused and wounded by his bipolar tendencies. He called out my name but I kept on walking, I got to the door and punched the code in the security panel, the door clicked open and I pulled it.

 

Suddenly I was pushed inside and to a wall, the door was closed behind me. A tall, hard body was against my back, and a hot breath hit my neck. He was so close I smelled him. Woodsy, wild and manly. Pure Ivar.

 

“Don’t you _ever,_ walk away from me again. Do you understand?” He growled in my ear.

 

“Ivar, what the f-” He pushed harder, my hands and forehead touched the wall, and my torso was arched while I tried to resist him.

 

“You have to understand!” He exclaimed a desperate tone covered his voice. He was supporting himself with both hands at the wall on top of my head, his crutch forgotten on the floor next to us.

 

“What am I supposed to understand!?” I cried out.

 

“What you _are_ , what you _mean_ to me.” He pushed one of his legs between my thighs and shoved his hips forward. Rubbing his obvious erection against my buttock. “What you have done to me.” I shuddered and my knees buckled.

 

A fire spread through my body and numbing desire clouded my mind, the fast pounding of my heart roared in my ears. “I-Ivar…” I moaned.

 

“I couldn’t do that before, get hard, not for long. But now… I’m rock-hard all the time.” He rolled his hips and the length of his member caught the right place between my legs. I was so wet, soaking my panties. I could feel the hotness of his erection through his jeans and my leggings, he’d moved my long coat out of the way.

 

I shivered and choked out a plea.

 

“You did something, with your magic hands, you did more than just heal my skin and bones.” He muttered, sounding angry. “This is your doing.” He moved one hand and grabbed my throat, not too hard but enough so I had to lift my head off the wall. “And you, are going to let me do, whatever I want to do to you.” His hand moved south, to my chest, between my breast, my belly, my pelvis and then settled over my covered pussy, and pressed the palm of his hand to my clit. I gasped and made a strangled noise. “Now, do you understand?” He was so mad, so dangerous.

 

“Yes, I do Ivar. Please!” I was begging, for what, I didn’t know. He moved away from me abruptly, got his crutch and walked to the elevator and pressed the call bottom. I stood there, completely bemused and trying to catch my breath.

 

“What are you doing there? come here.” He said pointing to the spot next to him. I went there. He reached out and pulled me to him, holding me with a hand at the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling with locks of my hair. His nose grazed mine. “Where I go, you go. Yes?”  His blue gaze was so intense. I only nodded.

 

* * *

 

I was closing the door to my apartment when Ivars hand grabbed my loose hair in his fist and used to move my head his way, to a side and backward. He put his head to my neck, breathing heavily there for a moment, and then licked a line from my shoulder to my earlobe and bitted lightly, a full body shiver rocked me and I couldn’t stop the wanton moan that came out of me. The next moment, my coat was off and his big, rough hand was under my shirt, massaging my breast. I was so horny it took me a moment to think of what he was doing, overloading his legs without other support.

 

“Ivar...Ivar!” I exclaimed.

 

“You like this.” He pinched a nipple over my bralette. “So hot for me.”

 

“Your legs! You can’t stand-” I tried to explain but he didn’t let me.

 

“Don’t. We are not at the clinic, I'm in charge here, babe.” He kissed and nibbled my neck.

 

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” I breathed.

 

He released me and stumbled backward, a light blush covered his cheeks and his eyes got hard, he was ashamed by his clumsiness, we haven’t made it to the non-crutch part of his recovery.

 

“Bedroom.” He demanded with a snarl.

 

I locked the door, put my phone and keys in the table next to the door and took my shoes off. With a deep breath, I pulled my shit together. The weight of the situation settled on me. He wanted me, on a carnal sense. My feelings for him clouded my judgment, and I had to think about my job, and everything I’d risk. I couldn’t just do _that_ with a patient, it was unethical. Maybe we could… talk this out.

 

“Ivar, we’ve to be rational. We can’t just… do that. I’m your therapist, you’re my patient.” I started.

 

“That didn’t stop you from vexing me.” He stated.

 

“Vex- What!? Are you insane?” I ran my hands through my hair in a frustrated manner.

 

“Yes, with your non-stop muttering, and… silly looks. And the touching. So much fucking touching. So yes, anyone will be insane by now.”

 

“I have to touch you, it’s my job, Ivar!” I was pacing in my living room, how dare he imply that I was… Seducing him.

 

“I _know_ that. But not like you do, like you want to get under my skin. Tempting me, when you knew that I _couldn’t_ … do anything about it!” he was clearly unsteady on his feet. I was about to make him sit. “But that changed. The first time I felt it, I thought it was a dream. That titillation sensation on my balls, the arousal. I was fighting my first real erection, and I passed the fuck out.”

 

I took in a ragged breath. “Ivar!”

 

“Only to wake up being in your arms, talking sweetly to me… like I was not a monster.” he broke his gaze away from me.

 

I swallowed back a sob and blinked back the tears forming in my eyes. With cautious steps I walked to him, his eyes still to the floor, I took his hands in mine and guided him down the hall and to my bedroom. _Fuck ethics, I love him._ I got him in front of my bed and I pushed him slightly, He fell on his back and with his legs open, I stood between them.

 

“You must think that I’m pathetic. The cripple trying to charm the beauty.”

 

While he spoke I took my shirt off, and got on top of him, with one leg on each side of his hips and my ass sitting on his abdomen. I put my hands on my thighs and smiled down at his shocked face.

 

“You said that I was going to let you do things to me, I’m waiting… Beinlaus.”

 

His face changed to mischievous. His hands moved to my hips and squeezed. I laughed and arched my body, causing me to rub my center against him, then the laugh turned to a lewd moan. Then he laughed joyfully and rolled his hips upwards, making me moan again.

 

“You’re so fucking hot.” His hands slid up and he grabbed my breasts. I was starting to think he has a fixation with them.

 

“How can you go from angry and bossy to sad and then horny?” I asked while trying to take his shirt off.

 

“I am kind of a hot-head.”  He shot up and took the shirt off finally, then he grabbed me by the neck and kissed me.

 

First, it was just our lips touching, an innocent brush, moving them over each other, small pauses to catch our breath, lips barely touching. It went on forever, our hands moving over our bodies. He grabbed my ass in both of his hands and shoved our hips together, the damp fabric of my panties was starting to annoy me.

 

I couldn’t take it anymore and licked and nipped his lower lip. Then things got hotter, tongues touching and dancing in an erotic pace, he sucked my lip and flicked his tongue over it. He reached behind my back and unclipped my bra, I shuddered when the cool air touched my hard nipples. Ivar moved his kisses to my chin and neck, down to my collarbone and the apex of my breasts. He sucked and bite me, leaving red marks on my skin. He grabbed one of my breasts and his head descended on it, he sucked the nipple into his mouth and played with his tongue. My head fell back and electricity shot from my chest to my spine and down to my clit.

 

He released it and then bit it, the walls of my center convulsed and clenched around nothing. I felt so empty, I needed to be full, full of _him_.

 

“Ivar, touch me more... please.” I was begging without shame.

 

“W-What can I do?... I don’t-” And then I knew, I truly had never done anything like this before, he seemed so confident and full-of-himself, but he was just a man. _Sweet and tormented._

 

I took his wrist with my hand and put his palm over my belly button, slowly I twisted it so his fingertips brushed the lace of my underwear, I guided him under it and over my mound, farther down until he was touching my clit, our breaths becoming jagged, I moved my hand with his and rolled them on my must pleasurable point. I moaned over his gasp and my hips jerked uncontrollably.

 

“Magnificent…” He whispered, pressing harder and losing the coyness.


End file.
